


This Love Is Silent

by lyingmary



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Series 3, trash!John, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyingmary/pseuds/lyingmary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I rewrote the stag night without the client's interruption. The knee grope goes too far and John is selfish. Sherlock tries to be selfless, but is selfless for selfish reasons.<br/>Basically, this story is shit. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Love Is Silent

The stench of scotch fills the sitting room. Inebriated slurring and overt laughter mark the quick ending stag night. Sherlock, of course, had planned every detail carefully, but John, of course, ruined that. Five beers and four shots later Sherlock was screaming about ash and being dragged from each bar they went into. John was pleasantly warm and happily lead Sherlock out. 

Eventually, they managed to get thrown out of every bar I walking distance of the flat. They clambered home and toppled onto the stairs. After a brief nap and a relocation to upstairs, the whiskey and scotch had been opened. 

Their chairs had been pulled together. John thighs were spread and Sherlock legs traveled miles down between them. His sock clad feet rested the edge of John’s seat. Post-it notes hung precariously from their head and sloppy smiles were shared. John felt an unsettling sense of comfort and home nestled back in his old chair at 221b Baker Street. It was a comfort he didn’t feel at his house with Mary. The ease he shared with Sherlock wasn’t there in his life with Mary, but Mary was to be his wife. Marrying someone and just being friends called for a different kind of relationship, right? 

The night wheeled on and soon it was dark in the quiet little sitting room. John leaned forward, but slipped. On instinct he grabbed Sherlock’s knee. Sherlock jumped and John apologized. 

"No, it’s fine."

John doesn’t move his hand. 

Silence looms over them and their eyes are locked, glazed over with exhaustion and alcohol. Slowly, John’s hand moved higher up Sherlock’s thigh. Then a bit higher. And just a bit higher. 

"John." Sherlock gasped. John’s hand pushed forward. "What are you doing?" 

To answer his question, John lifted his other hand to cup his face and brought their faces close together. The two men drew closer and closer until their noses touched and they could drink the deep amber scotch from each other’s breath. Sherlock closed his eyes while John tilted his head closer. They moved slowly, so slowly, but they don’t mind. It’s taken years to get them here. There’s no harm in waiting a few seconds more. 

When their lips met, it was soft. Their lips had been pliant and tingling from the alcohol. Sherlock brought his hand up to envelop John’s that was cupping his face. They spent seconds, minutes, hours gently pulling at each other’s mouths. The only sound in the flat was the small gasps of breath between the two. 

Sherlock pulls away. His eye were still closed and their foreheads rested together. 

"John." Sherlock exhaled like a prayer. 

"Yes." It wasn’t a question, but an answer. An answer to the unspoken question. 

Sherlock stood first and extended his hand to John. His long finger wriggled in an offering. John look up wide-eyed at the heavenly figure before him. He took Sherlock’s hand and they walked to Sherlock’s bedroom. Each creak and moan of the flooring was exaggerated by the consuming silence. A brief moment of guilt and danger washed over John, but ultimately wasn’t nearly enough to stop him from following Sherlock. He always would follow him. 

The lock on the door clicked behind them when John shut it. He turned around to face Sherlock’s gaze. John’s eyes flickered down to where their fingers were intertwined. Sherlock's hand closed around his tightly and John was pulled chest to chest. His head was tilted up and his mouth hung open wide in awe. Sherlock smiled. It was a peaceful smile. It was the type of smile John never thought Sherlock capable of. 

Sherlock bowed his head to the altar that was John. He leaned down until he could reach John’s mouth. Sherlock’s lips hovered over John’s in question. He wasn’t brave enough to make the final leap. He let John do that. 

John’s mind sung with lovely tunes that reminded him of Sherlock’s violin. His lips hummed along the ridge of Sherlock’s cupid bow. Soon, tongues and teeth were introduced and the humming turned to groans. Their arms wrapped like cages around them. They fell onto the bed and Sherlock’s curls fan out around his head like a halo. John sighed hopefully. 

There was a grand pause. As if they were both allowing each other to back out. To stop before the reached the point of no return.  
Neither of them did. 

John stormed Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock fought back. Long fingers traced the hem of John’s jumper before a flick of the wrist pulled off the soft fabric to reveal skin aged and soft. Sherlock fingertips grazed over all the little scars and right up the big one. He flattened his palm against the bullet wound. John curled away, at first, but then eased into the touch. 

Soon, Sherlock’s shirt and both of their trousers joined John’s jumper on the floor. They had moved their way to the head of the bed and tossed aside the pillows. Each kiss had grown more breathy and open-mouthed. Their hands danced dangerously low. John’s finger dipped into the elastic waist of Sherlock’s briefs. Sherlock nodded in permission and John slowly dragged off the pants. His hands dragged along each mountain and valley on Sherlock’s legs. Only once the pants had dropped to the ground did John look up. He moaned at the sight of Sherlock’s head tossed back, his eyes scrunched up, and his erection leaking against his slightly concave stomach. 

John kissed and sucked his way up Sherlock’s knees and thighs. Sherlock began trembling under John’s mouth. He knew what was to come, but that didn’t stop him from gasping when John wrapped his mouth over Sherlock’s head.

The most luxurious moans left Sherlock’s mouth. His head rolled back and forth and his hands gripped tightly on the sheet. John gently stroked his hips while sucking. He never thought a man could be so arousing, but John was captivated. His eyes left left Sherlock’s face as he rolled is hips into the bed. 

"John." Sherlock grabbed his shoulders in warning. John pulled him through it and buried his head into Sherlock’s hip as he shuddered through his own orgasm. 

Sherlock lay prone and John crawled on hands and knees up Sherlock’s body. He pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s long pale neck and collapsed next to him in the bed. 

:::

Diluted sunlight streamed in through the window. The sounds of traffic woke John. His fingers threaded lightly through Mary’s soft curls. He smiled blissfully and opened his eyes. 

John’s stomach dropped and his throat constricted when he realized who the soft curls really belonged to. 

Sherlock slept soundly curled around John. His arm tossed over his chest and his head tucked firmly under John’s chin. Sherlock’s chocolate hair slipped away to reveal the harsh purple bruises John doesn’t remember giving him. 

"Oh, shit."

**Author's Note:**

> so, I wrote this a year ago and found it deep in my files. I had 3 chapters written, but I'm only posting one right now to give me time to decide where I want to go with this and if I want to continue or leave it here/at the end of chapter 3. 
> 
> also, holy shit.. i went over-board with the religious motif...


End file.
